


Obitine: The Ones Who Burn

by queensable



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anidala, Anidala Week (Star Wars), Anidala Week 2020 (Star Wars), Canon Divergence - Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), F/M, Jedi, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, M/M, Mandalore, Mandalorian, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi on Tatooine, ObiTine Week, ObiTine Week 2020, Obitine, Post-Episode: s05e16 The Lawless, Satine Kryze Has Issues, Satine Kryze Lives, Satine Kryze Needs a Hug, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) Spoilers, Survivor Guilt, Tatooine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensable/pseuds/queensable
Summary: They swayed in the center of the dance floor, the band playing quietly behind them. Obi-wan breathed in, breathed out. Satine’s hand was callused now. Her fingers rough. He inhaled, and his heart was steady.Through Satine, he had learned too much. Fear. Guilt. Agony. Absence. Only now did he realize that perhaps they could learn something together. Happiness, perhaps. A home.It took them a while to realize that the band had stopped playing. The lights were dim, and most of the guests had left. They were alone on the dance floor.Satine pulled away, a small smile on her face. “This was nice,” she said. She let go of his hand. “Thank you...for dancing.”-Satine lives, and Obi-wan struggles with his humanity. Starts directly after "Lawless" and continues into the original trilogy.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Bo-Katan Kryze & Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala & Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala & Satine Kryze, Satine Kryze & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 32
Kudos: 74





	1. Obi-wan - Stable

**Author's Note:**

> tw: blood, major injuries (please let me know if any other warnings would be helpful to the community)
> 
> Hi! Thank you so much for reading. This is going to be a divergence from TCW canon, and a study of Obi-wan's and Satine's humanity, coping mechanisms, survivor's guilt, and conceptualizations of duty and love. 
> 
> There is a lot of angst.

_“Patient stable. Now accessing...lower back.”_

Obi-wan snapped awake. 

His breaths came unsteadily, each ragged and desperate. His hands scrambled for purchase--grabbed his armrests--and he shot to his feet. Knees buckled. He almost stumbled over his robes-- _robes? Wasn’t he wearing armor?_ \--as he raced to the glass partition. 

Satine slept. 

Her face was pale against the sheets. Her hair spilled out over her pillow, bleached white beneath the examination lights. A medical droid hovered above her, scanner sweeping up and down her stomach. Her chest rose and fell evenly. Her room was narrow, with barely enough space for a table and her bed, and as Obi-wan raised one hand to the glass, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were the one trapped inside, as if he were suffocating in her stead--

“Obi-wan!” 

“Master Kenobi!” 

The door swung open, and Obi-wan spun around. 

Anakin barged inside, and Ahsoka slammed the door behind him. Obi-wan drew in a breath--to scold them for yelling, to stop them before they could enter the droid’s line of sight, to question why they were here--but what came out instead was a choked inhale. 

“Obi-wan?” 

Anakin stopped just before him. Through a haze of exhaustion and fear, Obi-wan dimly registered his former apprentice’s worry. Ahsoka took his hand, squeezing it. Her touch was so warm. 

“Master...Master, you’re ice-cold.” Ahsoka guided him back to the chair, and he let out a brief stammer of complaint as Anakin busied himself with the tray of refreshments next to him. “We heard the news, and we rushed here as quickly as possible. The Duchess--she--”

She hesitated, at once fearful and awkward, as if afraid to interrupt the silence. Obi-wan swallowed and turned towards Satine. 

“She...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. That he had watched Satine die, and that had it not been for the sphere....

“Here.” Anakin’s voice was rough and guarded, the way it always sounded after a bad mission. After a close call. No, after.... Obi-wan’s hands shook as he took the proffered water. The medical droids had admitted Satine to a private suite, and outside her glass walls, his waiting area was pleasant. He sat facing a floor-length view of the Coruscant night, the sky glittering with traffic, the buildings a sheen of light. Tasteless paintings adorned the otherwise sterile walls. He forced himself to focus on one of them now, the way Master Qui-Gon had taught him years ago. The details. The colors. One sense at a time. Neither Ahsoka nor Anakin talked, but he could sense their shared look of worry. 

Finally, Anakin reached out and touched his shoulder. “Obi-wan,” he said slowly, “do you want to talk?” 

_Talk?_ What had happened was too big for words. Something rose up in Obi-wan’s chest, and he swallowed it down--all he could do now was break. 

“You...you need to go, don’t you?” he managed. “Don’t you have something to do?”

They shared another worried look. He couldn’t blame them. His hands still hadn’t stopped shaking. The journey from Mandalore to Coruscant had taken him well over one-hundred hours, and he hadn’t slept for any of it. Not while...not while....

“We don’t,” Anakin said. 

“If you were wondering,” Ahsoka offered helpfully, “you were out for maybe an hour. Two, tops. Duchess Satine was admitted two hours ago.” 

“Satine. The Duchess.” His voice was low. He forced it to stop shaking. Cleared his throat. “Is she all right? Anakin...could you go read the medical report?” 

Anakin obliged. Outside the hospital, a speeder whirred by in a blaze of light. Obi-wan winced. His eyes stung. His entire body ached--only now did he realize the pain in his back, his chest. The pounding in his head. Ahsoka squeezed his hand. 

“She’s stable,” said Anakin. “Internal bleeding has been drained and healed. They’re still working on her heart. What...” He hesitated, his eyes half-afraid as he met Obi-wan’s gaze. “...it says here that there was a third-degree burn and a stab wound. Obi-wan....” 

Obi-wan looked away.

“A lightsaber?” Ahsoka said. 

Obi-wan nodded. It was getting hard to speak. “It was Maul.” He cleared his throat again. “It was Maul. He...stabbed her with the Darksaber.” 

Anakin’s eyes widened, and Ahsoka gasped. “Then how did she survive?” she demanded. “That’s--”

“A direct heart wound.” Anakin’s jaw was clenched. “There’s no way a droid could’ve saved her, and that’s assuming you got her out in time. Obi-wan--” 

“Stop.” Obi-wan stood and swayed, and both Anakin and Ahsoka moved towards him. He brushed them off and strode to the window, his hands clasped behind him. He’d changed into robes on the flight back. Now he remembered. He couldn’t let the Jedi Council know he’d gone to Mandalore. “Stop. What matters now...” He swallowed. The night sky was a blur before him. “What matters now is that we get her stabilized. That we find a place for her to stay. She’ll still be in danger, and I...I was not supposed to be on Mandalore.” 

Anakin and Ahsoka glanced at each other. “We...saw the news,” Ahsoka said hesitantly. “Mandalore fell. The clans are in uproar, and the Senate’s called an emergency meeting. We didn’t know where the Duchess was. I...didn’t know you’d gone to her.” 

Her question was obvious. Obi-wan left it unanswered. 

“Actually,” said Anakin, “the Council was wondering where you were. As you know the most about Mandalore.”

“What did you say to them?” He stared at his reflection in the window. His face bruised and scratched. His eyes puffy and bloodshot. 

“Cody was the one who covered for you.” Anakin offered Obi-wan a hesitant, sardonic smile. “You owe him.”

“Did Cody know--”

“No one knew you went to Mandalore, Master,” interrupted Ahsoka. She sank against the wall, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her hand strayed unconsciously to her hip, to her empty lightsaber sheaths. No weapons were allowed in the medical wing. “I didn’t even know, until Anakin told me. You logged her in anonymously, with an all-droid team. And now...” She hesitated, struggled with some unseen emotion as she stared at Satine’s sleeping form. “...even if you don’t want to tell us what happened, the Jedi Council will want answers. About Satine’s reappearance. About you.” 

Obi-wan sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, but his head would not stop pounding. 

“Hey,” said Anakin. He gave Ahsoka a look that Obi-wan knew too well: _back off._ “But it’s all right. No one knows you’re back, and you can sneak back to your room.”

Obi-wan swallowed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. 

“I...you’re right.” He let out a breath. “I do owe you an explanation. But I’m afraid...I’m afraid I tampered with forces that are not meant to be touched. And I’m afraid that...” He trailed off, his eyes fixed on Satine. His adrenaline had fled him for good, had left him with only fear and dread and guilt, and he closed his eyes. He could barely even remember what he’d done in the Sundari throne room. Panic had guided him through everything, had shattered the sphere, had cut down one of Maul’s guards as he carried Satine’s body outside...he had never been that scared before. He had never let his fear sweep over him, possess him so completely and totally....

“Obi-wan?” said Anakin. 

Obi-wan shook his head. “I need to be alone,” he said. “And I should be here when she awakens. No, actually, I shouldn’t be. I just--I--I need to clear my mind.” Yes, he couldn’t be here with Satine. This he knew with a sudden certainty, an instinct that brought him both clarity and relief: he needed to leave her. She would be fine, he knew she would be, and he needed to get away _now--_

Anakin and Ahsoka exchanged another look. “Master,” Ahsoka tried, “you’re tired. Maybe you should get yourself checked up first. Tell the Council about what you saw on Mandalore. I’m sure they won’t punish you for anything. They’ll welcome the information, and so will the Chancellor.” 

“No. No, Satine--the Duchess--she wouldn’t want Republic forces on Mandalore.” His response was automatic, instinctive, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Focus. He had to focus. The weight of what he’d done finally settled upon him, and he began to shake once again. He hadn’t just defied the Jedi--he’d almost failed. No, he _had_ failed, and Satine.... He shook his head. “I’ll tell the Council I’m back. Thank you for your concern.” 

He saw Ahsoka splutter, saw Anakin frown, but he said nothing as he headed towards the exit. It took all his willpower not to look at Satine as he left. 

“Hey!” said Anakin, but Obi-wan could not look back. He swept down the hall, his hands clasped together, almost colliding with a medical droid. At this time of the night, in this part of the hospital, the halls were empty. 

_“Hey!”_ Anakin’s footsteps thudded down the hall, and a droid beeped in complaint. Obi-wan couldn’t bring himself to speed up as Anakin caught up to him. “Obi-wan. Obi-wan, you’re clearly not okay. What happened?” 

Obi-wan stopped. They stood in the center of the hall, alone, and Anakin’s face was half-shadowed. He was now taller than Obi-wan, and when he took him by the shoulders, Obi-wan couldn’t look away. 

“I...” he began. He took a breath. “Anakin, I don’t want to involve you in this.” 

“You don’t want to involve me?” said Anakin incredulously. “Obi-wan--you used _my_ ship to get to Mandalore. What happened there? It obviously traumatized you. There’s no way the Council will believe anything you tell them in this state.”

“I just need to rest.” 

“Oh, sure. And we all know how well you sleep under stress.” 

“Anakin...” 

Anakin’s hands tightened on his shoulders. “Obi-wan, you can’t just walk away. You should talk to Duchess Satine at the very least. Ahsoka can notify you when she awakens, and you can--”

“No.” The idea of talking with Satine was unbearable. Obi-wan shrugged away. The air conditioning kicked in, and a cold wind blew down the hall. “No. I can’t. I just need to sleep. Let Satine--I mean, the Duchess--rest and heal. Don’t let Ahsoka summon me. I’ll notify the Council I’m back right now, and--”

“You think they’ll let you sleep if you--”

“--Anakin--”

“Obi-wan, you’re not making any sense!” 

“You are out of your place.” Obi-wan jerked away, and Anakin’s eyes widened, hurt. “I am notifying the Council. And I am going to bed. Satine can’t see me now. I can’t see her. Do you understand?” 

Anakin opened his mouth. Closed it again. And then he let out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” he said. “But if the Council doesn’t wake you up at some ungodly hour and drag you off to debriefing, we’ll talk in the morning. We need to talk, all right?” 

Obi-wan looked away. 

_“All right?”_

“Good night, Anakin.” 

Anakin spluttered out a protest as Obi-wan strode down the hall. As he turned the corner and collected his lightsaber from the receptionist, his walk slowed into a limp--his right hip was throbbing. Pain stabbed up his right knee. 

He barely made it into the lift. 

Obi-wan sank against the wall as the lift carried him down. The light was dim, and his reflection in the door was ghostly. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking. The lift hummed faintly. 

In a day, perhaps a little more, Satine would awaken. And then...what could he possibly say to her? _You died. I saved you. You died._ He imagined her huddled on the bed. Her back scarred from the wound from which he’d failed to save her. 

And Mandalore...he would need to tell her about Mandalore. 

Obi-wan closed his eyes. His head pounded. He had never felt like this before, so bruised and ragged, tossed and torn from corner to corner. Satine had died. He had felt her breath leave her, had choked out her name. 

His hand strayed to his wrist com. He typed in his code, and a lump rose to his throat. Automatically, without thinking, he swiped through a week’s worth of notifications. Clung desperately to the familiarity of each motion. He typed in the access code for the Jedi Council’s communication channel, pulled up the most recent message: Grand General Tiplee, asking him once again for his whereabouts. Would he be available for a mission on Averax? They would leave first thing tomorrow morning. Five hours time. 

The lift dinged. _Floor one._ Obi-wan took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. His heart had finally slowed, and his hands--although they had not stopped shaking--had regained some of their feeling. 

The lift doors opened, and in flooded the conditioned air and chatter of the lobby, the cool chirp of the receptionist, the hushed talk of droids and nurses. Obi-wan stepped outside, and the lift shut behind him. No one paid him any heed as he pushed his way through the crowd, as he raised the wrist comm to his lips. 

“Obi-wan Kenobi, reporting for duty,” he said. His voice was calm, collected. Finally his own again. “Put me down for Averax.”


	2. Satine - Daylight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: medical description of major injuries (Please let me know if any other warnings would be helpful to the community.)

Satine’s eyes fluttered open. 

A droid beeped at her bedside. She winced at the light--part daylight, part artificial--as she raised a hand to her eyes. Her arm felt light. She pushed the hair off her forehead, and her skin was pleasantly warm. 

What happened? 

_“Patient 003416,”_ chirped the droid at her bedside. _“Regained consciousness and upper-body mobility at 09:37.”_

“Hello?” Satine whispered. Her voice was raspy with disuse. Panic jolted through her--how long had she been unconscious?--and she dragged herself upright. The droid beeped with alarm, but she pushed away its arm. Yes, it was morning. Her sheets were clinically white. And was that....

Anakin Skywalker dropped a magazine and shot to his feet. “Oh!” he said. “Duchess!” He nodded to her. Ran an awkward hand through his hair. His voice was muted behind the glass--why was she behind glass? “You’re awake. How are you...how are you feeling?” 

For a moment, Satine could not answer him. She stared around her confinements--at the tray of medical instruments, at the bin of discarded heat probes, at the tubes that ran to her chest. Her eyes flickered to her left, and her mouth fell open in confusion. It was Coruscant. A swollen, steely sky. The speeders, the buildings...and now Anakin Skywalker, typing something into his comm, one worried eye still trained on her. 

“General Skywalker,” she said. She cleared her throat, glanced at the droid. “Is there any water here?” 

_“We do not recommend the oral ingestion of water,”_ the droid responded. It hovered at her cheek, and Satine held still as a blue light probed over her throat. _“Our recommended plan of recovery includes one week of post-consciousness gastronomical ingestion.”_

“What do you mean?” she demanded. She coughed, the tubes rattled, and Anakin flinched. 

“Duchess,” he said. “Please--I think you should lie back down.” 

Satine ignored him. “What happened?” she snapped. Her hand flew to her wrist, to where her comm should be, and her eyes widened. The bedside instruments beeped in alarm. “Where’s my comm?” 

“I think it’s with the receptionist,” said Anakin. “I’ll go get it for you. Give me a second--”

He rushed from the room, and Satine hoisted up her hospital gown. Three transparent tubes ran from the left side of her ribs to a machine. Four more dangled limply above her head. She turned, and her eyes widened as she registered the scans on the droid interface. Soft tissue, skeletal, nervous systems, muscular. There...she reached up to her back. Her hand met the plastic first, and then the puckered flesh....

Maul. 

Fear rose up in Satine. Another droid had joined the first, and the two were speaking swiftly. She could feel no pain, and this unsettled her more than anything else. Her last memory was of nothing _but_ pain--her skin a blaze of agony, Obi-wan a blur of panic. The scans indicated no skeletal damage, and one diagram marked the internal bleeding as ninety-six percent drained. How long had she been unconscious? 

And where was Obi-wan? 

“Duchess?” Anakin entered the room. It was with equal parts fear and self-consciousness--a mix of emotions she’d never thought she’d see on his face--that he passed her comm to the droid outside the partition. “How are you feeling?” 

Satine swallowed. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” _Was she?_ She laid out her hands on her lap. They were not shaking. Physically, she realized, she felt well-rested. More well-rested than she’d been in years. This brought her some semblance of comfort, and she took a deep breath. “Master Skywalker. I was not expecting you here.” 

Anakin’s eyes narrowed in worry. He knew who she’d been expecting instead. 

Satine’s stomach was churning with fear, but she forced a smile. “How long have you been here?” 

“Just for the last few hours.” Slowly, uneasily, he took a seat. His posture uncomfortably straight. “Ahsoka--Padawan Tano--we’ve been taking shifts.” 

Satine let out a breath. An absurd need to cry rise up in her, and she battled it down. “I thought that Obi-wan’s request to help me was denied by the Jedi Council. That he was alone.” 

“Well.” His voice took on a controlled, brooding carefulness. “Yes. He was alone. We heard the news about Mandalore, and then he showed up five days after Sundari’s fall. With you. That was two days ago, and nobody knows you’re here. You’re declared missing, actually.” His eyes were full of apprehension as he tried to measure her reaction, and it was all she could do to keep her face neutral. “Are you all right?” 

Coldness crept through Satine. A stunned, sickening sensation filled her as she finally registered Anakin’s words. _Sundari’s fall. Declared missing._ If Maul had stabbed her, if Obi-wan had taken her off-planet, then Mandalore....

“Obi-wan was...called away,” Anakin said. “To Averax. I wasn’t able to get ahold of him before he left.”

At any other time, Satine would’ve noted the anger in Anakin’s voice. But she couldn’t concern herself with him now. She picked up her comm from the droid and turned it on. Notifications flooded over the screen: news reports, private messages, mandates from the warring clans, and--

Her own face stared up at her from the most recent missive. _Duchess Satine Kryze, declared missing, believed dead._

Dead. 

Satine’s hand flew to her heart. “You,” she stammered, “I mean. I-I mean I...” 

Maul had stabbed her. She’d lost consciousness. She’d struggled out her last words to Obi-wan, and then she’d....

“I died,” she whispered. _“I died.”_ She scrolled frantically through her notifications. Amidst the flood of Mandalore-related news, there wasn’t a single message from Obi-wan. Nothing from the Jedi Council. The heart-rate monitor beeped. 

“I know this is a lot to process,” Anakin said. He gave her a pained, half-hearted attempt at a helpful smile. It did not help. “Right now--and excuse my directness, Duchess--I think you should lie down and recover.” 

Satine ignored him. “Show me my full medical report,” she snapped at the droid. “The initial one.”

The droid beeped, and the screen next to her bed switched to an old report. Anakin spluttered, and Satine gasped. 

_Patient in critical condition. Third degree burn. Shattered shoulder blade. Severe tissue and muscular damage. Punctured heart: destroyed aorta and right ventricle. Critical internal bleeding throughout the ribs. Two broken ribs, one shattered._ The woman on the diagram-- _her_ \--was a mess of black splotches and red lines. 

“I should be dead,” she whispered.

“Hey,” said Anakin. He stood and moved to the glass, reached out futilely to her. “You’re going to be fine.” 

“How did he do it?” she said numbly. Her hand ran down the diagram, coming to a stop over the Darksaber’s entrance point. “Obi-wan. I shouldn’t be here now.”

Anakin hesitated. “I don’t know. But he said he tampered with forces that shouldn’t be touched, or...something like that.” 

Satine let out a breath. The diagram faded back to her current status. 

“Um.” Anakin rubbed his hands together awkwardly. “If it would help, Duchess, would you like to talk with Pa--Senator Amidala?” 

_Padme._ Satine nodded, her heart in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. _No. No, you can’t cry now._ “Yes. That would help. Where is she now?” 

“She’s at the--I mean, I can check. I can ask her.” Anakin pulled up his comm. He glanced furtively at Satine as he began typing, but she paid him no heed. Her head began to pound. She pulled up the three most recent articles on her comm. So Maul was nowhere to be found. Savage Oppress’ body had been discovered on the palace’s front steps. Death Watch hadn’t yet issued a statement--perhaps they’d finally fractured. And...the Republic had issued forces to supervise the transition of power on Mandalore. 

No. No. Satine scrolled through the article, stunned. Transition of power? Republic guidance? The article provided her frustratingly little--Republic news sources had never concerned themselves with the inner workings of neutral planets. Which clans had positioned themselves to take power? Who were the conglomerates sponsoring, and how had the Republic aligned itself with the parties involved? She switched to her private communication chanel, pulled up her messages with her ministers, but couldn’t bring herself to draft anything. Who was she supposed to talk to? Shouldn’t she announce her survival publicly? But her reign had never been backed by Republic support--she herself had spoken out against that--and she had no idea how she could insert herself back into the chaos without risking those around her....

_And where was Maul?_

“Senator Amidala’s on her way here,” Anakin said. He knotted his hands together. She let out a breath and stared at him, fully registering his face for the first time. It’d been a little more than a year since the last time she’d set foot on Coruscant, and she was startled by how much older he looked. His hair longer. His eyes wary and dark. His robes crumpled. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

For a moment, they stared at each other. And then Anakin swallowed. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here,” he said. “Obi-wan.” 

“I...” She resisted the urge to run a hand through her hair. “No matter. What are your plans for me now? To continue keeping me a secret?” 

“We were going to let you decide,” he said. “See if you want to make the journey back to Mandalore, or stay here.” 

_Stay here._ She almost snapped at him for his audacity, but she held her silence. Her stomach sank as she realized the futility of her situation. If the reports were true, and if Mandalore had devolved into civil war, could she pull her people back together? If the Republic had already moved into her absence...the answer was a resounding _no._

“I’m sorry,” repeated Anakin. He looked genuinely remorseful. 

Satine shook her head. “We’ll find a way out of this,” she said. Her voice sounded hollow, and she knew Anakin heard it. “I’ll find a way. Again...thank you. For watching over me.” Outside, the sunlight cut across the Coruscant sky, glittering brightly across her room. Satine winced. 

“I can stay here a bit longer,” he said. “Padawan Tano’s not due for another few hours.” 

She managed a laugh. Her chest ached. “I can hardly imagine you sitting still for that long. You must have something else to do.” 

He smiled helplessly. “I’m not exactly sitting still the whole time. There’s enough room in here to move around. Anyways, Ahsoka--Padawan Tano--we’re going to Cato Neimoidia in a few days. We should probably decide what to do before then.” 

“Satine?” 

The door opened. A smile broke over Anakin’s face as Padme swept inside, her brow furrowed with worry. 

Relief rose up in Satine’s chest, and her voice was a choked cry. “Padme!” She reached out involuntarily, instinctively, and Padme stopped just before the partition. Her hair was slightly mussed--she’d just taken off her ceremonial headpiece, perhaps--and she wore a high-collared purple gown. Dark circles ringed her eyes. “Padme, I--”

“Are you all right?” she said. She reached out, her palm pressed against the glass, and an absurd laugh-sob rose up in Satine. “No wonder Master Skywalker’s been so worried. I never even knew, and then when he told me--just now--I rushed up--”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She moved, the tubes rattled, and Padme’s eyes widened. “You just came from a Senate hearing?” 

“We discussed Mandalore, actually.” Padme’s voice slowed. She let out a breath, and her eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Satine. There was nothing I could do--”

“I know. They’re interfering.” 

“Worse than that.” She bit her lip. Her eyes flickered from the tubes and back to her face. “The Chancellor endorsed Almec. He’s lifted sanctions on imports into Sundari, and the conglomerates are welcoming Republic aid.” 

“No,” Satine said numbly. 

“Constructions for new Republic outposts start next month.” Padme drew in a breath, and her next words were strained. “Without Mandalore’s protection, twenty-two other neutral planets asked for Republic aid.” 

Silence fell between them. Padme’s face blurred before Satine’s eyes. No. No. She almost laughed. This couldn’t be possible--it was only a week after she’d left Mandalore. And the planet’s neutrality was now gone. Her life’s work....

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Padme. 

“Is there...anyone...who opposed the Chancellor?” 

“Seventeen of us.” 

Seventeen. Seventeen out of hundreds. 

“And...” It was getting harder to breathe. Satine’s hands tightened into fists. “And what did they say of me? My party?” 

“Satine,” Padme said gently, “most of them think you’re dead. Your party's gone.” 

Satine’s ears rang. 

_“I_ thought you were dead.” Her voice broke. “I thought you were _dead._ And those who don’t think you’re dead still think you killed Vizla. That was the last thing Almec said about you, and that’s the most credible source to them.” 

Satine spoke automatically. “So who’s leading the neutral systems now?” 

“They haven’t decided. But the Chancellor--”

“--he isn’t interfering in that, is he?” 

“Hey,” said Anakin, who had stayed silent until then, “maybe it’s best for the Chancellor--”

“No.” Padme’s voice was sharp, so sharp that it jolted Satine out of her shock. _“No,_ Anakin. This doesn’t involve the Chancellor. It shouldn’t.” 

“Padme--” 

“This doesn’t alarm you at all?” Padme had turned away from Satine, was now staring coldly at Anakin. “How quickly Palpatine moved to take Mandalore?” 

“I mean.” Anakin threw his hands up helplessly, glanced nervously at Satine. _What is going on between them?_ “I mean, I don’t know. Look, I’m going to go. I need...the Jedi Council’s calling me. Duchess, I...wish you a speedy recovery.” 

He swept from the room, and Padme let out a breath. 

“Is something wrong?” Satine ventured. 

Padme’s eyes were weary as she glanced at her. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. 

“Padme...” 

“It doesn’t matter.” She took Anakin’s seat, her posture sagging sideways onto the armrest. “Satine...I’m sorry. Your regime was never backed by the Republic, and now that they’re giving such favorable economic terms to Almec, I doubt you’ll have much public support.” 

Satine closed her eyes. “But it’s not all hopeless, is it?” she said. “Most of the aid will go towards war reparations. It’ll be a while before the people can throw their support behind Almec.” 

“Satine, the conglomerates matter more than the people.” Padme raised her voice as Satine opened her mouth furiously. “I know you took measures to limit the conglomerates' power. I know. But that system’s gone. Mandalore, it...well, it’s not your Mandalore anymore.” 

Satine sank back against the pillow. Her hands shook. Tears welled to her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Padme whispered again. She reached out. Pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry.” 

“I was a fool.” 

“No, you weren’t.” 

“Yes.” Her voice broke. Maul had left Mandalore. Maul had instigated the civil war just to dispose _her._ “I was. What am I supposed to do now? Announce my survival? If the Republic realizes I’m alive, they’ll never let me return to Mandalore.” 

Padme swallowed. “Well,” she said, “I think your hands are tied. Announcing your survival might be the only course of action. It’s only a matter of time before the Republic finds out you’re here, and if they ask me...I can’t lie to them. I’m surprised Obi-wan hid you as well as he did.”

Obi-wan. _Why wasn’t he here?_ Satine swallowed a sudden jolt of anger. Obi-wan owed her an explanation. She knew more about what happened to Mandalore--which was a paltry amount to begin with--than about what had happened to herself. 

“I think you should rest,” Padme said gently. “You’re still not fully recovered.” 

“You don’t need to remind me.” Satine buried her face in her hands. “Padme, I...I don’t know what to do.” 

“Rest. You’ve done more than enough already.” 

“No.” Her voice was muffled behind her hands. “No, there has to be something more. The refugees from the war--they need protection. Especially if the neutral systems are patrolled by Republic forces. Where are they going?” 

Padme hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said. 

“Find out for me. Please.” 

“Of course. Anything for you.” 

Satine looked up. It was hard to breathe. Padme stood and pressed her hand to the glass, and a tear slid down Satine’s cheek. 

“Satine,” Padme said gently, “I’ll stay here, okay?” 

The tears were coming down faster. It was all Satine could do to choke out an “okay” in response, and Padme’s eyes were full of pain. 

The sun glittered merrily above Coruscant’s buildings. The speeders flew past, uncaring in their rush: businessmen, teenagers, students. And Satine finally allowed herself to weep, her sobs entombed in glass, her body shaking silently with grief. 

Mandalore was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very much Obitine, but lots of politics. :) I promise the next chapter will have loads more action and an overdue explanation. 
> 
> I've always wanted to write an interaction between Satine and Anakin! I feel like she's one of the only people who can make him nervous. And the friendship between Padme and Satine is everything to me.


	3. Obi-wan - Rainfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: death (Please let me know if any other TW's would be helpful to the community.)

_“Docking in five. Heavy winds. Night vision recommended.”_

“Copy that.” Cody shifted his weight from foot to foot. The rain howled down outside the shuttle, the sky a mass of inky black. Searchlights cut through the Averax night, exposing the three shuttles beneath them. A clone behind Obi-wan donned his helmet. Another coughed. Cody turned to Obi-wan and held up a scan. “Want to review this, General?” 

“Thank you, Cody.” Obi-wan panned over the map. He’d caught a few hours of sleep on the flight to Averax, and the distance from Coruscant had lent him some clarity. The rainclouds here hid both sun and moon, and the forests below resembled hulking, monstrous beings. They needed to take a Separatist base fifteen kliks north of their camp. Scouts had revealed nothing unusual about it. 

“You all right, sir?” 

Cody’s voice was quiet. Private. Obi-wan swallowed and looked away, suddenly thankful for the night. Was he all right? Yes. Yes, he was fine. Now he was. Right? His memories had taken on a gauzy, mercurial tint, blurred out by sleep deprivation. He knew that the medical clones would call it trauma. That the healers at the Jedi Temple would encourage him to work through it. But there was no need, was there? He was functional. He was numb, if not comfortable. Status quo. 

Would Satine be awake by now? 

“Sir?” 

“I’m fine. Thank you.” He tightened his grip over the handrail as the wind jostled the shuttle. The rain howled against them, and water splashed inside. The clones did not even flinch. “And you?” 

Cody studied him a moment longer through the helmet. “Oh,” he said. “General Kenobi, you know me. I’m fine when you are.” 

Obi-wan could not think of a response. He managed a sardonic smile instead. Lightning flashed white, and he winced. _Sterile white._ The hospital light. The storm on Mortis. He shook his head, tried to focus on the battle plan. A three-pronged approach. Cody would lead the decoy forces. 

_“Landing now.”_

Obi-wan braced himself as the shuttle rattled to the ground. The winds almost drowned out the whirring of the engines, the slowing of the propeller--and as soon as the shuttle stopped, he leapt out. 

His boots hit mud, and he made a face. Cody followed close behind. All around them, clones turned on their headlamps, their helmets ghostly in the night. The rain droned down, dampening Obi-wan's hair, his beard. He lifted his hood over his head, tucked his arms into his armpits, and committed himself to a march of misery. 

“Look alive!” said Cody, full of sarcastic cheer. “Follow me, General.” 

“Gladly,” Obi-wan muttered. The shuttles took off behind them. He bent his head to the rain as the clones trudged north. There were fifty clones at the station, he remembered. Hopefully they’d have some food. Warm clothes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been on a planet this dark,” Cody yelled, as the wind screeched against them. He raised his arms, shielded himself against the coldness. Their boots slid backwards in the mud. Although they’d touched down outside a forest, Obi-wan could barely see their surroundings--the clone’s headlamps illuminated only a mess of undergrowth and a ragged cliff to their right. “Have you?” 

“No,” Obi-wan shouted back. The wind strengthened, and he sealed his lips until it passed. They’d entered the forest. The trees moaned and muttered. The headlamps broke and wavered off the branches, off leaves the size of a shuttle. Something slithered around their ankles and vanished. Lightning flashed overhead. They marched onwards in silence. 

“The wind’s only going to pick up!” a clone finally shouted. Obi-wan was soaked and cold, his eyes half-sealed against the rain. “We should find somewhere to stay. That cliff has shelter! One klik to the east.” 

Cody said something unintelligible, then turned towards Obi-wan. “General--do you think--”

“How much farther to the base?” Obi-wan said. 

“Ten kliks!” 

Ten kliks. He almost cursed. They’d been marching for an hour. “Find shelter!” he yelled to the clones. “Scan the cliff for life forms!” 

They turned east. The forest thickened. Obi-wan drew his lightsaber, but the light it shed was negligible compared to the clones’ headlamps. He turned it off, shuddering as rainwater coursed down his sleeves. 

“This is miserable,” one clone hollered to another. “I’m half-dead.” 

The second clone laughed. “You’re definitely _walking_ like you’re half-dead,” he yelled back. “Just wait until we get shelter. We’ll start a fire.” 

_“Not_ a good idea.” 

Obi-wan tuned out their conversation. _Half-dead. Dead._ Unconsciously, his hand strayed to the pouch at his belt, where he’d kept the Mortis sphere for the last year and a half. He swallowed. The pouch was empty, and the weight that tugged at him instead....

_“Take it.” The Father pressed the sphere into his hands. “You...you, especially, will need it.”_

_“What do you mean?” Obi-wan almost pushed it back to him. The sphere was dark and churning, a storm captured in glass. “I cannot possibly accept--”_

_“There is no time to explain. But you must take it. I cannot tell you more...I cannot do as my son did...but you must take it. Use it for the one who will burn. It will save them when nothing else can. It will save you.”_

_“What--who--”_

Obi-wan’s head jerked up. They had not stopped marching, and his vision blurred in and out of focus. No, he scolded himself. No, he couldn’t slip away now. The rain lashed at the trees. A leaf above him swayed, then snapped from its branch. Water spilled down his back. He sneezed. Cody sent him a concerned look. Obi-wan ignored him. 

They pressed forward. They were no longer walking against the wind, and Obi-wan let himself breathe. In. Out. In. Out. _Satine struggled for breath in his arms--_ no. No, he could not think about this now. He needed to focus on his surroundings. The sounds: the mulch underfoot. The creaking trees, the rain, the wind. His night vision had finally adjusted, and everything was haloed in a ghostly silver. He was so tired. He shouldn’t have come on this mission. No. He needed to be here. Focus.

_“Remember, my dear Obi-wan...I loved you always. I always will.”_

_No. No no no no. Something in him was shattering, over and over and over--she reached out and he leaned into her hand--he was frozen, why couldn’t he act, why couldn’t he move--behind them Maul was laughing--and Satine’s face was crumpling slowly, softly--_

_He dropped to his knees, and the sphere--dislodged from his fight with Maul--rolled onto the floor._

“We’re here!” shouted Cody. Obi-wan ran a hand across his face, clearing the rain from his vision. His head was pounding. His right eye hurt, and it took him all his might to look up. The wind whistled against the cliff. A clone had walked up to the entrance of a cave, was scanning it for life forms. A wave of a hand: all clear. Obi-wan’s shoulders slumped as he trudged inside, and the tension fled his body as he collapsed against the wall. Two clones were setting up camp for the night. Another drew an artificial barrier across the mouth of the cave. The rain adopted a muted, pensive patter, and Obi-wan closed his eyes. His right knee was still throbbing. Had it really been a week since the throne room? 

“General?” 

His eyes flew open. Cody stood before him, helmet off, a cup in hand. “Oh,” said Obi-wan. “Ah, yes. Thank you. I do need caffeine--”

“It’s not caffeine,” said Cody firmly. He pressed the cup into Obi-wan’s hands. “It’s hot water. And with all due respect, sir, I believe you need to rest.” 

“I do not--”

“What else can you do? Fight the rain? I’ll wake you up when the wind lessens. It’s a long march ahead.” 

Obi-wan swallowed. Reluctantly, beneath Cody’s watchful eyes, he raised the cup to his lips and drank. Cody nodded, and Obi-wan almost swore. The water was bitter with sedatives. 

“Get some rest,” Cody said again, then headed back to his troops. Obi-wan was too tired to even protest. His head fell back against the cave. _Satine._ How many times had they stayed in a cave like this? Hiding from rain, from rebels, from everything except themselves.... Involuntarily, his mind strayed to the nights they’d fall asleep next to each other, far enough apart to avoid having to talk about it in the morning. Lying on their backs, their hands clasped, their breathing slow but uneven. 

Obi-wan set down the water, wiped the water off his comm, and turned it on. No news from the hospital, although reports were Mandalore were pouring in. His headache worsened in the light of the screen, and he turned off the comm. He felt queasy, disorientated. His hand strayed to the pouch. There was no more reason for him to carry it around--it was broken. The Father had given the sphere to him in the middle of their search for Anakin and the Son, and at the time Obi-wan had thought nothing much of it: it was just another strange Mortis relic, better left untouched. His priority had been finding Anakin. Defeating the Son. 

But the longer he’d spent away from Mortis, the heavier the sphere had weighed on his mind. Obi-wan had not told anybody about it--not Anakin, not Ahsoka, not the specialists at the Jedi Temple. On the flight back to Coruscant, he had taken it out, had weighed it in his hand. It was curiously light. The material inside was viscous, suspended without gravity, emanating a purplish light of its own. 

The Father’s words had ricocheted about his head, a warning toll. _Use it for the one who will burn...will save them when nothing else can...will save you._ Obi-wan had tucked the sphere away, unsettled. Why had the Father given it to _him?_ What about the future was so terrible that he couldn’t tell Obi-wan? The Son had shown Anakin part of the future...Obi-wan had even found Anakin in a volcano. But Anakin wasn’t _burning,_ was he? And how was Obi-wan supposed to use the sphere? How was he supposed to save...?

But no matter how strange and unsettling the sphere was, Obi-wan could not let it go. He carried it with him on missions. He set it by his bedside. He even brought it to a laboratory, tried to study it on his own--with no results. The sphere didn’t have any readings. It didn’t have weight. It wasn’t a solid. It wasn’t living. It was not radioactive, and it contained no known ingredients from the Core Planets. 

_...save them when nothing else can...will save you._ There was an ominous tone to the Father’s words. Occasionally, Obi-wan considered breaking the sphere. But he hesitated each time. The Force worked in mysterious ways. He didn’t need to understand it in order to work with it. He would need to trust the sphere--he could do nothing else. 

And then Satine had died. Satine had died in his arms, her flesh charred and smoking from the Darksaber, and it was not trust that had guided his hands, but terror. A deep, immeasurable panic, a denial of her body, of her death--she couldn’t be gone. Not now. Not yet. _No no no no no._ She was here, she was still here, she had to stay. She couldn't leave him. He’d grabbed the sphere and shattered it on the floor, and a blinding light had exploded from within--Maul yelled and covered his eyes, the Death Watch cowered--

And then, suddenly, she choked out another breath. Her hand tightened around his face, and his eyes widened. 

_“Obi-wan?”_

It was her voice that jolted him into action. Obi-wan flipped her onto his shoulder. He held up his hand, his lightsaber flew to him--he cut down the guards like water. He fled--he ran like he’d never run before--

“General. General, you should sleep.” 

Obi-wan flinched. Cody was sitting next to him. When had he sat down? For a moment, Obi-wan was so flustered that he could only manage a shake of his head. 

“The wind’s not going to die down anytime soon.” Cody glanced at Obi-wan’s hands. They were shaking. “General...are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“No. Are you really okay?” 

“I’m...” Obi-wan trailed off. He stared at the cave entrance, now barricaded by the clones. He shivered. _Are you really okay?_ How could he be okay? Satine had died in his arms, and had it not been for the sphere....

“All right,” said Cody. “I might not know what happened, but I know that it’s bad. Come on, sir. You need to sleep.” 

Obi-wan did not resist as Cody led him to the back of the cave. A sleeping bag had been laid out for him. Obi-wan let out a breath. Sleep. The word had a foul, foreign taste. Cody passed him a fresh change of clothes. Another cup of hot water. Obi-wan shivered. He stripped out of his robes, pulled on the new garments, and crawled into the sleeping bag. The ground was hard and cold beneath him, and instinct told him to keep his eyes open, to stay awake--he couldn’t sleep now, not when there were things to do, not when they were in the middle of a campaign, not when Satine was still in the hospital, not when--

Obi-wan closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

///

“I’m bored,” sighed Satine. She leaned back against the rock, a picture of informality. Obi-wan couldn’t help but stare--the cold, aristocratic girl who’d intimidated him to the point of speechlessness was now gone. She groaned listlessly at the roof of the cave. Her hair tumbled down behind her--it’d grown longer over the last four months. “Oh, how the sky loves dripping.” 

Obi-wan snorted, barely concealing his laughter. 

Satine turned to him, half-pleased grin on her face. “What?” she said. “Come on, let’s go out.” 

“We...should stay inside.” He nodded unhelpfully at the sky. “Uh, it’s cold.” 

“Master Qui-Gon’s not here.” She stood and stretched. Her hair fell down her back, slightly damp from their run into the cave. Qui-Gon had left an hour ago to find supplies. “Besides, even if he were, he wouldn’t mind.” 

Obi-wan blushed. Resisted the urge to pull nervously at his braid. “No,” he said, keenly avoiding Satine’s gaze. She was right--Qui-Gon had turned quite a blind eye to their dancing. To their poetry reading, to their late-night gossiping, to their bickering, to their-- “You could catch a fever, Duchess. I mean, a bold--a cold. I said, a _cold.”_ Oh, why did he have to stumble over his words when he was with her? His mind turned involuntarily to last evening, when they’d read poetry together, and how badly he’d fumbled the poem he was supposed to read. _The moon and the stars sit at your knees / from your lips they come to know beauty._

What was that even supposed to _mean?_

Satine rolled her eyes. “Come on. You _never_ go out when it rains.” 

“I don’t see the appeal.” He tried to give her a dignified look. Fought down the warmth in his cheeks. “I thought you were a woman of taste.” 

Satine’s nostrils flared. She placed her hands on her hips. “And I thought _you_ were a man of valor. What, are you afraid of the rain?” 

“No. I just prefer not to get wet.”

She grinned, and Obi-wan’s cheeks burned. 

“Wait,” he said, standing up in protest. “I didn’t mean--”

“I’m never going to let you live this down.” 

_“Satine--”_

She blinked in surprise, and he clasped a hand to his mouth. It was the first time he had called her by her first name, despite how easily she and Qui-Gon had dropped their titles for each other, and now he could only stand mortified as she let out a startled peal of laughter. _Satine. Satine._ Her name had barely left his lips before he found himself forming it again, over and over, her name cradled in his voice, his face aflame with an embarrassed pleasure--

“Well,” she said, now grinning even more broadly, “I’m not gonna let you live _that_ down, either. Your appalling fear of first names. Come on, Obi-wan.” 

She took his hand, and his heart ricocheted around his chest. “Wait!” he shouted, as she raced into the rain. “No! No--my robes--”

Satine was laughing, her face alight with joy. The thunder boomed above them, and Obi-wan yelled as she leapt into the nearest puddle. He spluttered out a protest as the rain drenched his hair, his clothes. She was shivering, her hair glued to her face, her eyes a bright burning blue in the evening. She kicked water at him, and he spat out a mouthful of mud. “What?” she challenged. Her teeth chattering in the cold, her arms drawn around herself. “Aren’t you going to fight back?” 

“Pft--I--” Unable to resist, now grinning despite the mud, he picked a stick off the ground and shook it at her. Ridiculously, childishly happy. “Fine! You, Sith Lord--you asked for it! You won’t get away!” 

Satine squealed with delight as he chased after her. They were both laughing, their vision blurred by the rain, their feet splashing through undergrowth. Satine was faster than he thought--she kept glancing back at him, laughing, daring him to catch up. Obi-wan’s senses guided him easily: he leapt over a log, dodged around a tree, was about to shout in triumph, when Satine tripped over a branch. A startled _oof!_ escaped her as she crashed to her knees, and he yelped. 

“Satine!” he said. He tossed aside the branch and knelt next to her. He grabbed her shoulders. They were both breathing heavily, and her skin was warm beneath her rain-soaked garments. Water streamed down her eyelashes and cheeks, and her hair was a pale gold. He opened his mouth to reprimand her, to check her for injuries-- 

But then she looked up at him, breathless and laughing, and whatever he was about to say died away. 

_The moon and the stars sit at your knees / from your lips they come to know beauty._

He understood. He understood it now. He understood it perfectly--and it terrified him. 

“I’m fine,” she said. She stood up, grinning, bracing herself against Obi-wan. He was dizzy. Stunned. Swayed slightly against Satine, as if he were the one who’d fallen instead of her. She looped an arm around his shoulders, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and his heart caught in his throat. 

“Oh, blast,” she kept laughing, as they staggered back towards the cave. Their ribs were pressed against one another. They stumbled forward in unison. He clung to her laughter like a lifeline, breathing so quickly he swore she could hear. “Oh, blast. Maybe I _am_ going to catch a bold.” Her clothes were streaked with mud. He had never seen her so happy before, so giddy, and the sight was overwhelming. “Oh, blast.” 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” 

Satine took a deep breath. He felt her suppress another laugh. “I’m fine.” She turned to him, her face inches from his, her breath warm on his neck, and he prayed helplessly that she could not see him blush. “Oh, that was fun. I hadn’t done that since I was a child.” 

“It’s hard to believe you were ever a child,” he said snidely, and she elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow! That was uncalled-- _ow!”_

He collided with a tall, solid object--and fell backwards into the mud. Satine raced towards him--then froze. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened. 

Qui-Gon Jinn surveyed the scene, his face held with deliberate neutrality. An umbrella--newly purchased--shielded him neatly from the rain. He barely suppressed a smile as he passed Obi-wan a towel. 

“There you are,” he said serenely. Obi-wan looked away, his cheeks burning with mortification, barely able to stammer a response, his robes thoroughly dirtied. “Well...don’t let me interrupt you. Make sure to clean yourselves up.” 

Qui-Gon swept back into the rain, humming happily, and Satine howled with laughter. 

///

“General? General Kenobi.” 

Obi-wan shot upright. 

Cody stood above him in the dark, his helmet already donned. Obi-wan scrambled out of his sleeping bag, but Cody shook his head. “We’re not in a rush,” he said. “It’s all right. The wind just died down. It’s morning.” 

“Morning?” said Obi-wan. He shook his head, trying in vain to dislodge the dream. The memory. _Satine, laughing--_ “It’s still dark.”

“We’re on _Averax,_ sir.”

Obi-wan almost cursed. He climbed out of the sleeping bag, and his neck popped. “How long did I sleep?” 

“Eight hours--”

 _“Eight hours?”_

“Sir," said Cody, and Obi-wan could almost hear his exasperated smile, "the wind didn’t stop until now. We’re still making good time.” 

Obi-wan gritted his teeth. _Satine took his hand._ No, what was he doing? He struggled back into his clothes from the previous night. They were still wet, and shivers scaled his spine as he stood. Behind him, troopers were rolling up their sleeping bags, and he stooped down to fold his. His mind was ablur. 

“A few hours without wind should do,” Cody said. “There’s a brief uphill climb, but it shouldn’t be anything.” 

“Yes. Yes, very well." The sky was still an inky black, Cody was right--he couldn’t hear any wind. Only the rain...the dreary, sickening rain. 

They passed ration bars among themselves. Obi-wan stomached only half of his. A clone laughed, and he flinched. _Satine’s eyes like stars. Later that night, they shivered together at the fire (Qui-Gon insisted on making dinner), and in a moment of reckless daring he looped an arm around her shoulders._ No. No, no. _Stop it._ He was being ridiculous, childish. He shook his head--he hadn’t even known he’d still _remembered_ that poem. It was just a dream. He needed to focus on the present. Anything else was selfish. His memories were selfish. 

“Ready to go?” said Cody. A clone before them pulled down the barricade. 

“Lead the way,” said Obi-wan. The clones marched out past him, and he almost followed suit--but his comm beeped. His heart caught in his throat. _Patient 003416: Regained consciousness and upper-body mobility at 09:37._

A lump rose to his throat, and a soft, choked cry escaped his lips.

“General Kenobi?” said Cody. 

Obi-wan's head jerked up. A sudden rush of anger filled him: they were on a _mission,_ for blast's sake! He bit down on his lip, so hard he tasted blood, and forced himself to look away. _Pull it together. What do you think you're doing? Pull it together. Pull it together!_ He swallowed. Took a deep breath, smoothed down his robes. 

“I’m coming,” he said.

Obi-wan closed the communication channel and headed into the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating twice in one day. Just couldn't resist the fluffy younger Obitine + angsty yearning older Obitine combination.
> 
> There's no way to say this that wouldn't sound snobbish, but the poem is mine!


	4. Satine - Circles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the long-ish wait--I'll most likely be updating weekly from now on.

“And _then,”_ said Ahsoka, scooting closer to Satine, “Anakin handed me his lightsaber and said he’d be able to best the champion in the ring--and you wouldn’t _believe_ what happened next.” 

Satine laughed. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “He beat him?” 

“No! Master Obi-wan walks in!” Ahsoka snorted with laughter. Satine’s eyes widened. “He took _one_ look at Anakin, all half-dressed and about to step into the ring, and let him have it _right there!_ I’ve never seen Anakin so embarrassed, or Master Obi-wan so angry. And even the ringmaster felt bad for Anakin afterwards--they gave him half the prize money as a consolation prize.” 

Satine burst out laughing. “No!” she said. “No--that’s terrible! What did he do with it?” 

“Well, Master Obi-wan took it, and Anakin was too sulky to ask. But Master Obi-wan never spends money on anything. He doesn’t even use the allowance the Jedi Temple gives him.” 

Satine rolled her eyes and sank back against the cushion. “I can imagine,” she said. When they were on the run, Qui-Gon had had to order Obi-wan to buy a new cloak for himself. She didn’t tell Ahsoka this, though. The memory was...painful. 

It’d been four days since she’d awoken in the hospital, and two days since the glass partition had been taken down. Since then, Anakin and Ahsoka had alternated shifts, while Padme had commed her with updates about Mandalore. Satine had found Anakin’s visits to be somewhat awkward--the Jedi always treated her with a sort of hesitant respect--but she looked forward to seeing Ahsoka. She’d kept in touch with Obi-wan’s Padawan over the last year, and the two could usually get a good laugh in about Anakin. 

“Hey,” said Ahsoka, “did Anakin tell you that we’re going to Cato Neimoidia later tonight?” 

Her eyes had taken on a tentative light, and Satine sighed. “He did,” she said simply. “And I’ll be fine.” She reached out a laid a hand on Ahsoka’s, and Ahsoka squeezed it. For a moment, the two watched the late morning traffic. The sun glittering harshly off the transports, the buildings winking like so many eyes. Satine had gotten sick of the view. “I’ll have physical therapy to keep me busy, anyways.” 

That was another thing--she’d started physical therapy yesterday. She’d read through all the medical procedures she could find on her comm--partially to find out how to heal herself faster, partially to figure out what _exactly_ Obi-wan had done--but had found nothing helpful. Her internal bleeding was fully drained, the damage patched up with heat probes, and her only choice was a slow recovery. But she could only manage to walk across the room and back, braced against a walker, before running short of breath. The droids still hadn’t allowed her to shower, instead sanitizing her wound and scrubbing down the rest of her body by themselves, and she felt both undignified and uncomfortable in her unwashed state. 

Ahsoka made a sympathetic face. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time. Besides, it’s probably good for you to rest. You need a break after everything that happened.” 

Satine recoiled involuntarily at Ahsoka’s words. _Everything that happened._ How could she possibly take a break? She’d reached out to leaders of five neutral systems, her and Mandalore’s closest allies, and only two had responded. Their meeting was terse, fruitless. Both of them were seeking Republic aid. And although they had promised to keep her survival a secret.... _Would they keep good on their word?_ Satine still did not know which was worse: hiding behind death as she worried about her planet’s fate, or deciding to live and let the Republic manipulate her survival. 

Either way, she was running out of time to decide. 

“Satine?” said Ahsoka. 

Her head snapped up. “Yes,” she said. “Yes--sorry about that. I have a lot on my mind.”

“No, I understand.” Ahsoka let go of Satine’s hand and yawned. “Again, if you need me to help with anything--”

“No, no. There’s nothing you can do. Frankly, I don’t know if there’s anything I can do, either.” Satine turned on her comm. A recent article popped onto her screen: Mother Talzin had just died. Two of Mandalore’s oil conglomerates had endorsed Almec. A report from Padme listed the stream of refugees from Mandalore to Outer Rim systems, although most refugees had been rejected from new housing. A few of the wealthier families had journeyed to Coruscant--none of them her supporters. 

“Hey.” Ahsoka laid a hand on Satine’s shoulder, and Satine ran a hand over her brow. She was careful not to disrupt her braid: Ahsoka was still trying to figure out human hair, and Satine's braid was slowly coming undone. “It’s gonna be all right.” 

“I just don’t know what to do,” she murmured. She stared hopelessly at the comm, then turned it off. “I’ve just been sitting here, and I can’t figure out how to announce my survival in a productive way. I’m thinking of helping the refugees who arrive on Coruscant, but they’re wealthy enough to manage on their own--and I’m hardly equipped for humanitarian work. Times like this I envy Naboo’s system, Ahsoka. Padme served as both Queen and Senator, and was involved in public service long before she entered the legislative system.” 

Ahsoka tilted her head. Her skin was pale beneath the sunlight. “You don’t have that on Mandalore?” 

“We’re not democratic.” Satine glanced at Ahsoka, who was now watching her with interest. “I thought you’d learned this in your politics classes?” 

Ahsoka blushed. “We...well, the Outer Rim unit was short. We didn’t really talk about it. And, uh, I was on a mission. I didn’t study that much.” 

Tsk, Satine wanted to say. But a sense of unease crept over her--a _mission?_ How old was Ahsoka, again? Although Korkie was not her son, she’d hardly allowed him to go a day without class. And here was a girl his age, running off to fight a war instead of staying in school. 

“You were saying?” said Ahsoka. 

“Ah.” Satine shook her head. “Yes, I was saying that I had a sheltered upbringing. I studied at Coruscant for several years. Until I...went on the run...I’d rarely ever seen the outskirts of Mandalore. The rural areas.” 

Ahsoka blinked. “So that’s how you developed your Pacifist ideals? By being exposed to war?” 

“No,” she said, “no. I had those ideals long before the Mandalorian Civil War. I could never stomach or make sense of violence. And it wasn’t just me asserting pacifism, either. I had a political party backing me up.”

“Huh.” Ahsoka glanced tentatively at Satine. “If you wouldn’t--if you wouldn’t mind me asking, did that put you in opposition with your family? Your clan?” 

Satine laughed and shifted her weight. _Oh, if only she knew._ “I don’t mind,” she said. “And no...not quite. My mother was always supportive of me. She feared for my safety, though. My father, on the other hand, disapproved. He sent me to Coruscant to rid me of those ideals.” 

_“Really?”_

“Really.” Satine let out a bitter smile. “Ironically, he was murdered in the Civil War.” 

Ahsoka’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry,” she said. She took Satine’s hand. “That’s terrible.” 

“It’s in the past. What can we do but move forward?” she sighed, then stretched her arms. The tubes rattled, but she could only feel a mild pain in her ribs: just a few more days, and she wouldn’t need the machine anymore. “But enough about me.” She smiled encouragingly at Ahsoka. “Your stories about Master Skywalker are the highlight of my days, my dear. Tell me more.” 

Ahsoka grinned. “I was--well, I was actually hoping you’d tell me about Master Obi-wan. Like, I can’t even imagine him when he was fifteen.” She hesitated, waiting for Satine to rebuff her, but Satine shrugged. _Oh, what’s the harm?_

“I...well...if we’re going to talk about Obi-wan’s stinginess, there was one time when we dropped our provisions in a river.” Satine smiled. “Obi-wan dove right in and got them out, but it was winter--”

“Oh no. He didn’t.” 

“He did!” Satine laughed softly. “He was freezing afterwards, and the food was ruined. Both Qui-Gon and I told him not to eat it--he got a terrible cold, too, mind you--and he agreed to throw it out. But then, a few days later, he got food poisoning--”

_“Oh no--”_

“And we realized it was because he’d kept eating it anyways.” She grinned, her arms around herself, suddenly filled with a warm, childish delight. What she did not tell Ahsoka was how Obi-wan had been so cold that night, shivering so fiercely, that he hadn’t even objected when she’d given him her blanket. That was the first night she’d stayed up for a shift, wasn’t it? She’d taken Obi’s watch. She’d watched him in the moonlight: swaddled tightly in two heavy blankets and two sleeping bags, Padawan braid falling over her pillow--they’d started sleeping close together for warmth, and he always took up too much room--and a lump had risen in her throat. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Ahsoka was saying. “Especially because he’s so stringent about health for, well, literally everyone else.” 

Satine laughed quietly. “That’s true. There was one time, when both Qui-Gon and I got sick, and Obi--I mean, Obi-wan--you’d have thought _he_ was the sick one, the way he was running around and giving us medicine and panicking.” 

“That’s a sight I’d pay to see,” said Ahsoka wistfully. “A panicked Obi-wan. Actually, on the second thought, the day I see him panic is probably gonna be the day the world ends.” 

Satine looked away. _Panic._ Her heart beat faster. She swallowed. One memory had haunted her for the last few days, had refused to leave her--Obi-wan a frantic blur, his face pale with fear. She had never seen him like that. She wished she never had, as if his reaction to her death were not meant for her eyes. As if it were something so personal, so private, that her gaze had somehow been a violation. 

_My death._ She took a deep breath. She’d spent the last few days in a stunned fear, her hands grabbing onto her blankets on instinct, as if testing her tether to reality. She’d forced herself to read the news, to nap, to talk with Anakin and Ahsoka--anything to distract herself from the perversity of her existence. 

“Has he sent you anything, by the way?” Ahsoka said, jolting Satine out of her thoughts. “Obi-wan. He didn’t send anything to us.” 

Satine blinked. “What?” 

“Obi-wan,” she said. Her eyes darkened. “He’s been...online. But he hasn’t updated me or Anakin, and, well, Anakin’s resentful. I’m just...worried.” 

She turned on her comm. Nothing. “Have either of you messaged him?” 

“No,” she said. She turned to Satine, and her gaze was troubled. “To be honest, I think...I think he’s scared, or at least worried. But I don’t know whether we should give him more time alone, or reach out. He always--”

“No, I understand.” Satine let out a breath and ran a hand over her brow. _Obi-wan._ Yet another train of thought she’d been determined to derail. Her anger had kept him out of her mind for the last few days, but it was now beginning to peter into worry. “He pushes people away. Frankly, Ahsoka--and this is between you and me--I don’t think he knows how to reach out.” 

Ahsoka was silent. Then she nodded pensively. “That...that makes sense,” she said. “I guess I never thought about him like that before.” 

_You Jedi and your stoicism. It’ll be the end of you._

Ahsoka turned towards Satine, a small smile on her face. “I can sense what you’re feeling, you know. Some of it.” 

Satine snorted, more to hide her embarrassment than anything else. But Ahsoka’s comment had taken her aback: the Padawan would’ve _never_ spoken to her like that on Mandalore. When she was still Duchess. Had her wound somehow made her less formidable? Someone to pity? “I’m not the only one who thinks that way,” she snapped. Ahsoka blinked, and with some effort, Satine softened her voice. “I respect your way of life. I do not agree with it.” 

Ahsoka tensed. “Fair.” 

The two lapsed into silence. Satine let out a breath, then pulled up her comm again. 

She gasped. 

_One new message from Bo-Katan Kryze._

“What?” said Ahsoka, sitting upright. “What happened--”

 _Bo-Katan._ Bo-Katan--had she seen Obi-wan leave Mandalore with Satine? Why had she waited so long to make contact? Satine had pushed her sister out of her mind--it was better not to think about family during times of crisis. And now....

“One moment,” murmured Satine. She freed her hand from Ahsoka’s and pulled up the message. Her shoulders tensed. 

_Satine--  
I did not know how best to contact you. I decided to wait until you announced your survival, but seeing as you have not yet made a statement, I am writing with a warning. A Clan Saxon ship was seen leaving Mandalore a few days ago. We traced it to Coruscant. I assume Kenobi took you there. _

Nothing else. Satine scrolled through the rest of her private messages, her eyes narrowed, blood roaring in her ears. _Clan Saxon?_ Why would that clan make the five-day trip to Coruscant? And Bo-Katan.... There was nothing else. No indication to where her sister might be, although the message was clear: _don’t contact me back._ Bo-Katan was a renegade terrorist. No regime would accept her. 

“Satine?” said Ahsoka. “Are you all right?” 

Satine looked up, her heart pounding. “Do you have the logs of the Senate building?” she said with some effort. “About who’s visiting, and when?” 

Ahsoka nodded and pulled up her wrist comm. “Yes, of course.” 

“Last name Saxon.” 

Ahsoka’s eyes widened. “Saxon?” she said, already scrolling through the logs. “Didn’t they--I thought--there’s nothing here. Nothing from the last three days, or today.” 

Satine cursed quietly. “They’re under a fake name, then. Or a visitor’s pass. But Ahsoka--”

“You want me to track them.” 

Satine nodded. 

Ahsoka stood, and the bed sprang back to normal. Her eyes were hard and determined. “All right,” she said. “Consider it done.” 

“Thank you.” 

Ahsoka strode to the door, then hesitated. “Satine,” she said, “I think...I think that maybe you should call Obi-wan. If what you say is true, about him not wanting to reach out to anyone, then you might be the best person to get to him.” 

Satine swallowed. “I...I’ll consider it,” was all she could manage. “Thank you, again.” 

Ahsoka gave her another nod. A hesitant one. And then she left. 

Satine sank back into the silence. 

Saxon. Clan Saxon. Her stomach turned--just when she thought the situation on Mandalore couldn’t get worse, here was yet another complication. If the Chancellor had already moved to endorse Almec, he must have plans for Saxon as well. Satine glanced at the door. Could she risk involving Padme in this? Ahsoka was far enough removed from the Chancellor to avoid attracting suspicion, but Padme was a high-ranking Senator. She had her own planet’s interests, and she’d already defended Satine once.... 

Satine swallowed. _I have no choice,_ she realized. _I need to announce my survival right now--as soon as possible--before this spins out of control._ Her hands closed around the tube leading from her rib cage to the machine. How could she possibly make such an announcement without implicating Obi-wan? 

And, once again, anger flooded through her. Had Obi-wan really expected her to stay silent while she recovered? To wait for him? Her planet was at stake. Her people were in danger. 

Satine pulled up Padme on her comm. _Please come see me,_ she typed. _I would like to announce my survival as soon as possible._ The message was painfully informal, but it was all she could manage. She hit _send._

The reply came almost immediately: _I’ll be there in an hour. I can gather your allies for you: Bail Organa would definitely support Mandalore’s sovereignty and your bid to retake power. I’ll also plan for a transport to get you off Coruscant, as a last resort._

 _Thank you,_ Satine replied. 

She turned off her comm and stared moodily at the view. The noontime rush had picked up, and her eyes blurred as she tried to follow each speeder. The traffic on Coruscant was so different from that in Sundari. Sundari was so much more organized, the buildings connected to allow a greater range of transportation. Satine had assigned the city planner herself: she knew that the pedestrians could walk alongside the speeders, that Sundari’s new layout had reduced carbon emissions by two-thousand percent. The city planner...Hera Ualin. Where was she now? Had she survived Maul’s war? 

Satine closed her eyes. Had it not been for Anakin and Ahsoka, she suspected that the enormity of her loss would’ve overwhelmed her days ago. It was almost unbearable to sit in such stillness, in such silence, as her world burned down around her. And to have survived.... She felt too pathetic to cry. 

It’d been like this years ago, too. Decades ago, when all her loss was inseparable from her selfishness. Thirteen months after she had gone on the run, Qui-Gon Jinn had walked into their shelter with a poster. She and Obi-wan had looked up from their game of _st’ayika_ \--a board game which she played mediocrely, but which Obi-wan played terribly and therefore led him to assume her expertise (she wasn’t about to correct him, anyways)--and Qui-Gon had cleared his throat. Obi-wan shot to his feet. Satine remained sitting. 

“Duchess,” said Qui-Gon, with a slight nod. Satine blinked, then frowned. _Why the formality?_ “Padawan. I have just received word from the nearest township. The opposition party has issued a formal writ of surrender. I made contact with our touch person in your party, Duchess, as he instructed me to do in this situation. We will return you to Sundari in two months.”

Satine froze. Obi-wan’s mouth hung open. Dimly, through the chitter of the birds and the creaking of their impromptu shelter--it was spring, and they’d neglected to set up a proper rain barrier--she felt her stomach twist. _Return you to Sundari._

_Two months._

Her ears rang. The enormity of the situation finally crashed down on her: Sundari in two months. Her home. She was going home. 

“Well,” Qui-Gon said graciously, now with one firm hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder, “I will prepare dinner. Why don’t you two find some berries outside? I was thinking of making some dessert, and the market prices were quite high.” He squeezed Obi-wan’s shoulder again--Obi-wan still looked stunned, as if he were the one returning to Sundari instead of her--and whisked away to the edge of the shelter. Dust motes swirled in his wake. 

For a moment, both Satine and Obi-wan sat still. And then Satine managed a smile at Obi-wan. “Come on,” she said. Her voice sounded strangled, tight. Obi-wan met her gaze, then looked away. _So that’s why Qui-Gon called me Duchess. This is going to end._ Why did it hurt so much to breathe? “Let’s go.” 

Obi-wan returned her with a curt nod. Automatically, her hands balled at her side, Satine stood and left the shelter. She half-feared that Obi-wan wouldn’t follow her. It was late afternoon. The sun fell through the trees in gentle golden shafts. His hair was almost red beneath the light. 

Silently, side by side, they headed down the path. The forest was unusually quiet, as if waiting for them to speak, and Satine could hear Obi-wan breathe. Unsteady. Shallow. 

They took a right at the gnarly tree, as they had for the last week. The river burbled before them--they’d played a Jedi training game in there just days ago, and they’d both resorted to cheating--and they walked alongside the riverbank. Over the gnarly roots. Around the muddy patches. They came to the tree-trunk bridge, the one that would lead them to the berries. Obi-wan braced her automatically against him, and she flinched as his hand tightened around hers. They did not look at each other as they crossed. Had he gotten taller in the last few months? She could barely see past his shoulders now. 

Finally, silently, they arrived at the berry patch. Then Obi-wan turned to Satine, and his eyes were wide. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I forgot to bring the bucket.” 

She blinked. “What?” 

“For the berries.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

They stood facing each other, neither able to hold the other’s gaze. Satine’s throat was tight. The wind blew her hair into her face--and she was startled. How long had it been since she’d cared for her hair? She would’ve never let this happen in Sundari--none of _this._ Not her hair, not this informality, not...him. 

She looked up, and an absurd need to cry rose in her throat. Obi-wan was still not looking at her. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was gangly, scrawny after a year of subsisting on the wilderness. His Padawan braid longer, his cheek still scarred after the Venomite attack. She’d been the one to patch up that wound, and now it was all she could to resist reaching out to him. 

“Obi-wan,” she said gently, “we should talk.” 

He looked away automatically. She stepped towards him, and he flinched. This hurt her more than she’d thought possible--that after all this time, after all the nights they’d fallen asleep next to each other, after all the times they’d laughed at one another and Qui-Gon--his instinct now was to recoil. 

Obi-wan looked up. Guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“No. No--I--” Satine withdrew her hand. Sank into herself. Her arms folded around her stomach, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. What was there to say? How could she possibly say it? She’d spent the first six months of their flight in a state of angered panic--she had a planet to rule, for blast’s sake!--and she could barely sit still and sleep for her impatience, for her indignance. And when she did sleep, she dreamed of politics: of all the reforms she could push through if she were still in Sundari, of all she’d hoped to accomplish--now dashed by this war and by her own cowardly flight--

And then, slowly, somehow...all those concerns had begun to fade away. Until Sundari was little more than a dream, and she’d come to tolerate--then enjoy, then look forward to--the long, drawn-out days. The rain, the dusty sun. The nights they couldn’t sleep from boredom, and the nights they fell asleep immediately out of exhaustion. 

She’d almost tricked herself into believing it’d never end. 

That she didn’t need it to. 

Obi-wan said nothing. Satine’s throat twisted as she realized he didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know, either--and she wanted to scream at the unfairness: that none of her training as a politician had prepared her for this. 

“Well,” she said automatically. She bent down and began picking berries, and Obi-wan followed suit immediately. In a moment of wild fantasy, she wished that these plants had thorns--that one of them would prick their finger and that the other would rush to their aid--but nothing happened. She gathered a fistful of berries, then stood. Obi-wan knelt at the other end of the clearing, staring at his boot. He caught her gaze. Looked up. His face was pale. His hands shaking ever so slightly. 

“We should go back,” he said. His voice careful and controlled. 

_No. No--don’t. We shouldn’t._ Because this was it. Because she knew that after this moment, neither of them--both so full of pride and duty and self-imposed dignity--would acknowledge this again. That they could either speak now, or live with their silence forever. _Please, Obi-wan. Say something._ She almost opened her mouth, almost pushed aside all the pride and duty that kept her lips sealed--but she forced herself to stay still. To plead with him, silently, desperately, to speak. _Say something. Obi-wan, please, say something._

A moment passed. Two. Obi-wan’s gaze was agonizing. She looked away. 

“All right,” she whispered. “Let’s go.” 

They started back. She walked two steps ahead of him, determined not to give him the dignity of her gaze, burning with anger and embarrassment and sadness--but the river forced her to stop. Carefully, Obi-wan helped her onto the log, one hand braced against her waist, the other wrapped around her fingers. As she stepped onto solid land, she pulled away, freed his fingers from hers--

But he held on. His right hand tightened around her left, and the motion--reaching out to her, clinging to her--was so abrupt that he almost toppled off the log. For a moment he lurched back and forth, still holding onto her hand. Satine froze. Her heart was in her throat. Obi-wan regained his balance. They stayed like that: her on the bank, him with one foot on the log. The river churning merrily beneath them, silver in the evening light. Obi-wan’s hand was warm. His grip was just tight enough to implore her-- _stay, please_ \--but just loose enough that she could leave. That she could walk away, and....

Satine closed her eyes. Her hand tightened around his, and Obi-wan let out a small, choked breath. They did not look at each other as he climbed off the log. As they headed back to the shelter, hand in hand for the first time. The last. Their hands swung slightly. Their fingers were wound tightly, desperately, around one another’s palms. Satine realized that she had never seen Obi-wan’s palms before--had never studied them the way she’d imagined lovers would read each other’s hands--and the thought filled her with an immeasurable grief. 

The sun was a dull, lazy gold. They took a left at the gnarly tree, and Obi-wan let out a laugh. “I think I dropped my berries somewhere,” he muttered. His voice was low, and Satine choked out a laugh in reply. “We’re just gonna have to tell Qui-Gon that there were none left.” 

“It’s all right. They were just for dessert, anyways.” The berries in her left hand were warm. Her fingers were numb as she opened her fist and let them fall, and her palm was bloody and red. 

They still had berry jam for dessert--the food she’d mentioned offhandedly to Qui-Gon months ago, the food she always ate when she was sad--and Satine thought that maybe the market prices hadn’t been that high after all. 

Now, as Satine stared at the Coruscant noon, she realized that she did not remember whether she or Obi-wan had been the first to let go of the other’s hand. She did not know which was worse. And for all the brief moments of beauty they’d shared that year, they’d still chosen to leave the other behind--because there was no way Obi-wan could’ve fit in her life, and there was no way she could’ve belonged in his. 

But now...now, her life had been upended. And it would be upended yet again, whether she liked it or not, if she let her dignity keep her from contacting him. 

Satine pulled up her comm. 

_Obi-wan,_ she typed. She let out a breath. _Come back. I need_

She swallowed. _you,_ she yearned to write. _to talk to you,_ was her only acceptable option. The cursor blinked on her comm, and slowly, she finished her sentence. Hit _send._

She stared at her comm. At her message, hovering detached and displaced in blue light. Her words were so small and pathetic. In a moment of anger, she wanted to spite him--to delete her semi-plea, to eradicate all evidence of her _needing_ \--all to challenge him to respond. To make him need her, because for all she knew, he had stopped needing her a long time ago. 

Satine’s cursor blinked. Her throat tightened, and her hands balled into fists. Deep down, she knew Obi-wan was probably fighting. Or marching, or healing. Perhaps sleeping. Neither of them had never been quick to reply to messages, anyways. Her legs shifted beneath the sheets. The heartrate monitor beeped.

The traffic sped by her window. The cursor kept blinking. 

Satine swallowed and looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satine and Ahsoka mom/daughter bonding moments + young Obitine yet again = a happy writer. :) I know that Satine's chapters are slower, both because she's more involved in politics and because she's bedridden, but things will definitely pick up soon. As always, thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm using fanfic to take a break from an original long-form project, and the work I post here is purely for my own enjoyment. I'm holding "The Ones Who Burn" to a much lower standard than I do for my original writing, and the prose here is therefore going to be somewhat unpolished. So if there are typos, awkward sentence structures, or other smaller things I catch upon a second reading, I'll go back and fix them. (Please feel free to point them out to me, too!) Rest be assured that I won't change any big plot points after I publish my chapters. This is just a way for me to pay tribute to some of my favorite characters and stories in a low-stakes setting, and to get out of the perfectionistic career-building mindset I've carried for...a long time haha. :D


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